the ant trap

poetry

at what point do
you know
that it is poison
that you are
eating?

you stupid bug

that smelled
your way here
as you were born
to do
looking for
something sweet
to take a little
for your
infinitesimal
self

while the lion’s share goes to your master

it was i who put that poison there,
you bastard!

for you and your kin
because it
disturbs me
to see you
i am repulsed
by the
very site
of you

you should know better
than
to be soft
and dumb

and fall for an easy trap
placed
conveniently
within your
reach

what should i say?

poetry

i understand the river
of thought and learn
to breath among the
creatures of the riverbed

i speak but the words
get carried away
back down the curvature
of the giant sphere

i add my own water
to the stream but it
seems a pointless
endeavour

it becomes foreign
immediately
just like my reflection,
the morning after

one thing remains true:
that i cannot breath
in this land
of fish and mossy rocks

i feel freer with
my feet hovering just
inches above the ground
and drier, too.

it wasn’t fair, no one said it was, now go toast the happy couple

poetry

the lights were
still on the music
still loud when you
ran crying into the
cold night

the sand ate up
your steps and
when you met the
sea it was so cold,
and so uninviting

what did you expect?

maybe a caring and
warm omnipotent
cloud whose womb
you would climb inside
of and wish it all away

yet the air outside
the wedding tent was cold
as was the water that
lept at your toes
as you stood backwards

let go
fall into
the ocean
wait for
the dj to
stop alltogether
and the
party to
come for
you

drift into
the icey
ocean of
your feelings
and your
ambitions and
your perfect
universe never
to be

or, don’t you have the balls?
or, walk back to the tent
let the sand eat your steps
wipe the salt water off your face
and toast the happy couple.

Winds of Change

poetry

There is a place between where I was—
Geographically straddling home (and where home will be)
Intellectually flailing at what I know (petrified of what I don’t)
Emotionally committed this cause (a compelling enigma)
Romantically ready, so ready (so far from prepared—but ready)
Spiritually tender and ready to be transformed (more than I can imagine)
And where I am going—

Like a flag buffeting in the wind
Declaring an identity which has been attached to another foundation
For as long as memory recalls

Flings loose

Willingly—terrified.
A movement begins.
This house grows wheels, bears the weather—no apologies, howling.
Purpose served, shingles tear up, await replacement.
A new roof—trappings intact.
The old precedes, but now concedes.
One is silver, the other gold.

The summer storms usurps a leaf from his stagnant perch
And for a moment—though turbulent and unknowing—
Deposits him to transformation of life yet untold.
Greatest mystery with only the promise of a seed intact.

Change and I have never seemed to get along,
But if it’s like they say and, “opposites attract”—
Then I suppose I’m right where I should be.

Descent

poetry

From the brow we point—
‘Aye, they’s many a sea monster in the deep,’ we say.
Waves loll and rear-end one another.
‘Got to keep a wary eye out,’ we acknowledge, ‘they there.’

From cabin we clink beverages,
Jangling prisms refracting in the light.
Drinking down and never knowing until we go down.
Gazing between bars and goggles, our self-imposed captivity
Descends.

Down, the water swarming our feet.
Down, the green hues grow darker.
Down, the shattered light suffocating.
Down, the fading briny hull forename—Bliss.
And we are swallowed.

There are no more intermittent fins to marvel at.
No glimpses of accusation to position our supple fingers.
Consumed by teeth of an insatiable, blood lusting hunger.
Surrounded by sharks, swirling in a spectacle of slaughter.
Engulfed in a liquid grave, should we have stayed any longer.

And upon reemerging—gasping not for air,
But release from this elevator into a living hell.
‘They is monsters down there’ we say,
But it’s different this time.
‘Almost got me, almost plunged.’
Fins carve the waterline like serrated knives.
‘Them poor souls. You’d never know they was like that.’

Boy attempts to swim

poetry

You threw your whole body at the icy lava
But it spat you out like a cork,
And all the little fish drank champagne
And danced the rumba because
They thought you’d given up
And they thought they had won.

The big green-eyed octopus down there
Skated along the soft ocean floor like messiah
Each day the slimy grin on his face,
That fatty enclave of salty grime,
Grew wider and wider, until the sea
Started to shiver at the thought of its size.

Months passed in the oyster-grey soup
Of the swelling Atlantic Ocean
But every morning you hear the
Broken-backed barnacles whispering your name
Your time is coming my darling, I can feel it
Put your goggles on, it’s time for a change.

florida monday

poetry

i get my fix alone
in my grandfather’s shoes
in my grandmother’s home

he left his shoes and tore
out his heart
she left her home and drowned
in perfume

i make my way to the
old sea
churning up sludge

i stand there and get my
fix again like all beasts but
think something of it

or think something will
come of it

i write with his pen
i whisper in her words

i let the sun asphixiate my anxiety
i shake the dirt off my skin
like a rug
i run head first into the sludge

i swim

technology, entertainment, design

poetry

i posit that all of this gas
and carbon nonsense is
the molecules within a falling
raindrop, electrons and
other scientific things popping
and fizzing as supernovas in
a black abyss. that chances are
we will be crushed on an umbrella,
that man will have spent all
of his time sitting in front of computer
screens, watching geniuses blabber,
positing about carbon and raindrops,
and plop,
right on some 9 year old’s hannah
montana umbrella. she’ll be livin’ like
us, ears closed, just like one big
epic irony. for feelings,
i guess.

my tombstone should include “wide-eyed” on it somewhere

poetry

i am wide eyed and high floating
above rivers of happy
philistines and i find that
everything is funny because
it’s all so very grave.
waves of irony end their journey
from: our massive sun-god
to: my face and
amplify my smile;
coloring all things in their
deep, deep comedy.

i smile and graze over the
earth with my eyes lightly
so as to not break a thing.

“humans are bad balloons”
i think and
look down
as i deflate
the crumbly breaky surface
giving way at the thought of
my come-down. sunshine
turning into heat
bird chirps
turning into traffic
smog
all things blackening and
crumbling as i come down.
i grab at the comedy but
cannot hold anything,
not even the air.

And So Begins The End

poetry

Our lives begin anew again
at 12 o’clock tonight.
Will this be the year we live our lives right?
What’s it going to take for us to realize
We’ve got to make this night count?
Resolutions commence,
As the time ticking between this year
and the new year thins.
Will they be to not sweat the small stuff,
because it’s all small stuff?
Will they be to walk in someone else’s shoes,
take a look through their eyes?
Or just get dedicated to something,
go out and take a risk,
a leap of faith?
Take a chance and love someone?
Find meaning and answers?
Shed a bad habit? Inherit a good one?
Brush off all the little inconsistencies?
Begin to see life from the other side?
But even perhaps tonight we’ll realize:
Life is too short to even be concerned
with all these resolutions,
and maybe we should just resolve to live it.

wally’s world

poetry

on the way to the
vee eff double yew
i saw dereks in the
cornfields
and i can see why you’d
not want to be here.
i hear they sent you
in to cash-for-gold
and got a settlement
from a white house,
overnight,
postdated for two years,
and i see what the govern
meant. side-note:
my baby she is a cow in
the pasture,
all four of her stomachs
filtering the asbestos-grass
(have you seen the commercial
for the new tree ants?
delicious, i hear).
my friend denny, see, he lives
on every corner,
he puts syrup on his bread
and sells you awful puns for
10 a piece.
and, i suppose, i’m glad as hell
you finally walked out of wally’s
world, we’re all still unsure
as to why any of us bought
tickets. ’till then it’s midnight
in the living section.

Essence

poetry

When considering the final conclusion
The closing stages of a blaze soon to be extinguished
Embers glowing their brightest before at last they fade
Heartbeats ebbing to an even rhythm amidst the hearth
Radiating undulations and ashen remembrances
Furrowing to heights unknown
Trembling to hushed rest unseen
After everything the trajectory revealed
Cremated powder remnants
Charred and stained against time
But the legacy of its warmth still burning
More brilliantly than ever before